


Lack of Kindness

by Uniasus



Series: Mercy [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic, BAMF Merlin, Destiny, Gen, Healing, Merlin is uncomfortable with tributes, Minor Character Death, season 03 au, though it's really just scars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-27 05:25:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13241370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uniasus/pseuds/Uniasus
Summary: After two years in a coma, Merlin wakes to learn that Arthur has almost single-handedly brought about the Golden Age of Albion. But something doesn't sit right, and Merlin learns there's one last hurdle that needs to be overcome.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do something for the holidays. This was the most polished thing I have, sadly. As in, I'm sorry it's a new thing and not a chapter update on on WIP.

Sometimes, between great periods of nothingness, he thought he could hear the sea. It would thunder in his ear, a roar gaining volume and distance, before fading again. A wave of sound, water (words?) cresting and breaking on rocks beyond his vision, just on the edge of hearing.

He liked hearing them because they reminded him there was something beyond the void. He also liked it when they faded, for each wave carried the bite of salt in wounds, a pain that stung beneath his skin. He would prefer the void to that.

Eventually, the waves got louder. Closer. More frequent. And as he heard their crash and recede, the accompanying pain faded. The ocean was just noise now, sound in his ear even as he picked up a new sense. Rocking, side to side. As if he sailed on a ship in the sea, hearing waves break on the shore, instead of lying still on a flat warm rock a distance from the water.

In, out. Left, right. Rock on the water. Hear the crashes of waves.

Peaceful.

He stayed there, for a long while, there in the dark, halfway believing he sailed the seas even as the void called to his mind.

* * *

Sometimes, when the waves sounded really loud, he’d feel instead of imagine what he laid on. Warm, flat stone. Rough moving sails. Sometimes the giving nature of flesh, someone else riding the boundary of life and death.

He liked to imagine it was a girl he once knew. Brown hair, brown eyes, with the sweetest face and a love for flower-adored mountain lakes.

Sitting next to her, the void called the strongest.

* * *

Once, he opened his eyes and saw the underdeck of the ship. Not a deck, a canvas. He must sleep under an extra sail, or upon a boat so small it had no hull and thus fabric was used to protect the sailors.

Rock, rock, rock.

At least, if he was on a small boat, the sea was calm. They’d never run into storms.

He always felt safe.

* * *

Not waves, words. The rise and fall of conversation. The rise and fall of a mighty chest as it breathed. The shift of a mighty wing.

Too much, too foreign, too loud.

The void pulled him under again, deep inside himself to the dark and peace.

* * *

It came back, the waves and sea and small boat. Faster, more clearer. No associated pain.

* * *

He opened his eyes, halfway understanding where he was, what he saw.

Above him were indeed wings, gold and brown and protecting.

Against him, a great chest that expanded and shrunk with air, rocking his body slightly.

Voices, though he couldn’t make out words. Couldn’t pick out the differences in sound and shape and meaning. Just noise, cresting and crashing and churning.

A warm bundle sat under his hands – scaly and small and bumpy.

The wings above shifted, cracked, an opening between side and wing and sky. He caught a brief glance of a rocky ceiling before the space was filled with a large glowing eye. Yellow and magic and familiar.

_Young Warlock. Merlin._

If they were said out loud or in his head, he couldn’t tell. But when he closed his eyes to their sound, he slipped not into the void but a true sleep.

* * *

When Merlin awoke next, a better understanding of who he was, where he was, filling his mind, his face was pressed against Arthur’s thigh.

Sitting crossed-legged next to him, leaning against Kilgharrah, the prince looked warn but happy. He reached out to touch Merlin’s shoulder, leaning over to peer in Merlin’s eyes.

"I've got it," Arthur said, "You don’t need to wake up. I can do this."

Merlin’s eyes slipped closed. He'd sleep, just a little longer. After all, he was supposed to help Arthur, not laze about.

* * *

The pinpricks of needles jolted him awake, a forceful transition from dark to light, reclining to upright, peace to pain.

A screech of distress had Merlin twist to see Aithusa, low to the ground and pouting.

Kilgharrah shifted his wing above, peeking into the warm cavern he'd made with his body. "She's gotten quite used to using your stomach as a place to sleep, young warlock."

Merlin blinked, first at the golden dragon above him, then the small white one by his hip. Except Athuisa wasn't the size of a cat like he remembered. She easily stood as tall as a prized hog. While she might have started curling up on Merlin’s stomach, now, the only thing that would fit would be her head or her forelegs.

"Are you alright?" Kilgharrah asked.

Merlin noticed his breathing was heavy, scared, and took deep breaths to calm down. Pinpricks. Needles. The fear of them had forced Merlin awake, but why he feared them he couldn’t say. The memories were smoke pulled into the void.

Merlin figured that was the best place for them.

"How long have I been sleeping?"

Aithusa had grown. How fast did dragons grow?

"Two years."

The shock of it sent Merlin sinking into Kilgharrah's side.

"Two years?" Merlin whispered.

Kilgharrah shifted, no longer peeking beneath his wing, but inserting his whole head into the space as he curled his neck around. Athuisa nosed her way under Merlin’s hand, a familiar touch, as Merlin watched Kilgharrah's head get closer.

"Morgana accused you of sorcery, and Uther believed her. You burned but survived the pyre. And then served as a curiosity for Uther and a Witchfinder. You were missing for months before the Druids and Arthur rescued you."

Merlin didn’t remember any of that. He brought a hand up to rub his face, paused when he noted the lack of his pinkie. Probably for the best, not remembering.

Using Kilgharrah as support, Merlin stood up to inspect his body.

He was thin, skeletal, the result of not properly eating or drinking for two years. There were rings of scars around his fingers, wrists, various parts of his legs, and down the too-big shirt he'd been dressed in, he saw more scars scattered down his chest. In addition to missing his left pinkie, his small right toe was also gone. He'd also been castrated, and by the feel of his tongue it had been split down the middle and healed, leaving a thick scar down its center.

Magic, no doubt, was the only reason he was alive.

Yes, he was very glad he didn’t remember what happened.

Athuisa crooned in worry, nosing Merlin’s hip and pulling him from his thoughts.

"You should eat," Kilgharrah said.

Should, not need, like Gaius would say. Becuase his thin calves were proof he didn’t need anything.

Emrys. Immortal One.

He hadn’t thought it'd be so literal. There was no way he could protest and say he wasn’t the figure from prophecy now.

"Actually," Merlin whispered, "I think I'm going to sleep some more." He lowered himself to the stone floor, curled against Kilgharrah's side, and used Athuisa's belly for a pillow.

* * *

 When Merlin next woke, he found Arthur sitting next to him.

"Here, eat." Arthur shoved half a baked loaf in his face.

Merlin lifted his head off of Arthur’s shoulder, he must have been propped there, and raised a thin hand to grab the bread. Merlin noticed how thin his fingers where, how his whole arm trembled.

Arthur did too, judging by his frown.

To placate him, Merlin nibbled the bread. And promptly choked when he realized how good it was.

"Merlin!" Arthur thumped him on the back, making it hard for Merlin to swallow.

"I'm fine," Merlin answered, settling back against Arthur. This was nice. Not a hug, but as good as, from Arthur. "I just, I don't _need_ to eat, but realized how much I want to. This is amazing." Merlin took another bite.

Arthur watched him, face flat. "You are literally skin and bones. Of course, you need to eat."

"Not to live."

"To be healthy, then."

Merlin hummed, licking breadcrumbs off his cupped palms.

"Here." Arthur pulled out a bowl from near his other side and deposited it in Merlin’s hands. "It's cold, I've been waiting for you to wake for ages, but you can warm it."

"I can...?"

Arthur looked away. "You were burned at the stake and lived. And then you called out for aid. You know who answered? Dragons and Druids. I know all about you. Your magic, the prophecy, Emrys, our destiny."

"You do?" Arms trembling, Merlin set the bowl of broth on his lap. He had always planned to tell Arthur, one day. After Uther was gone, once Arthur could identify the good of magic.

"Yes." Arthur placed a hand on Merlin’s arm.

Merlin stared at it while Arthur spoke.

"I don't blame you for not telling me. The risk of, of _this_ , had been high and I had given you no sign that you could trust me with any of it. But I do want to talk about it. Later. Once you're healthy and not living under the Great Dragon’s wing."

Said dragon snorted above them.

"For now," Merlin looked up to watch Arthur speak, "just eat. And heat that up, its awful cold."

Calling up his magic wordlessly, Merlin heated the broth. Steam rose from the bowl and Merlin had never smelt something so good. He was lifting it up to his mouth to gulp when Arthur stopped him.

"I have a spoon."

Merlin blushed in embarrassment, taking the offered utensil.

When he finished, when sleep called to him, Merlin asked, "Where's Gaius?" Arthur stiffened.

"He's, I, you've slept for two years, Merlin. I'll let you know what you missed tomorrow, okay?"

Merlin hummed, already expecting bad news.

* * *

::Good Morning, Merlin!::

The voice in his head jerked Merlin awake, heart fluttering in his chest. He weaved with the sudden action of sitting up, falling back against Kilgharrah's side.

Crouched in front of him, sat Athuisa, tail twitching on the stone floor.

::Athuisa has yet to gain the ability to speak properly:: Kilgharrah said in Merlin’s mind, ::But she thinks quite well and her magic recently hit levels allowing telepathic speech.::

"Good morning, Athuisa." Merlin reached out to scratch under her chin. She didn't purr, but the rumble in her chest showed the same satisfaction.

Kilgharrah shifted, nosing his snout into the wing cavern. "Not that I mind being your hut, Merlin," The dragon’s tone said he very much did mind, "But now that you are on the mend the Druids are eager to see you."

"The Druids?"

"They've shared this cave, the last two years, wanting to be close to you and providing care as needed. They've also done well in advising and teaching the young king of magic."

"Cave?"

"Where did you think we were?"

"I wasn't sure," Merlin answered. Curious, he got down on his belly and gently lifted the edge of Kilgharrah's wing.

The dragon was nestled on a spit of rock, and across the chasm around it, Merlin recognized the earthen platform. He was in the cave Kilgharrah had been chained in for twenty years.

This time, he was not alone. Lights illuminated the walkway from the platform to the rocky floor below, where Merlin saw a gathering of tents. He'd only been down there once, to cut Kilgharrah's chains, and hadn't paid attention to his surroundings. But the floor equaled the clearing Merlin had often meet Kilgharrah in, plenty of space for a tight group of twenty tents.

With a groan, Kilgharrah stood and stretched his wings, all ten feet of them. "Go eat, Merlin. I'll be back."

The downbeat of dragon wings pushed Merlin’s hair back, made him close his eyes against the churned up dust and rock fragments. By the time Kilgharrah was gone from view, a Druid had almost completed the climb to the small spit of rock.

She paused, staring at Merlin as he stood on the rock, eyes wide with awe.

“Emrys,” she said, going down to one knee.

“Oh. Please, don’t.” It took Merlin longer than he wanted to reach the Druid, body weak and shaking. By the time he reached the woman, he wanted nothing more than to collapse on the top stair and pant.

::Call me Merlin, please.:: He said into her mind, not quite ready to use his breath for words.

She raised her head. “But you’re Emrys. Proven and true.”

Merlin bit the inside of his lower lip. Fanatics, Gaius had called certain Druids. Those so invested in the prophecy, so hopeful and desperate for the Golden Age of Albion, they latched on to anything related to it. As Emrys, exactly who they had been hoping for, a culmination of their waiting and praying, they’d be unable to see him as anything else. No matter how often he asked for them not to.

How many of the Druids camped below were like her? Seeing a savior, and not a man who had just started a road to recovery?

Merlin thought of Arthur’s own savior, Jesus, called “Savior”, “the Son”, “Christ”, and “Messiah” by those he had saved. So few called that figure by name, less treated him as an ordinary man.

Suddenly, he didn’t want to go down to the Druid camp, no matter how insistent Kilgharrah was about him eating breakfast. Or Athuisa, Merlin added as the younger dragon pressed against his side.

Merlin’s body wouldn’t allow him to skip out on a meal; it growled. His stomach, while not yet used to food, at least was starting to get back in the habit of eating. “This way, Emrys. We have food.”

The walk down was slow and strenuous, leaving Merlin light-headed. He kept a hand on Athuisa’s body as a support. Walking alongside the Druid would have been easier, Athuisa didn’t keep a steady pace, but the woman hadn’t offered.

The idea of a minor deity needing food apparently made much more sense in her mind than Merlin’s weakened body needing help down a roughhewn rock staircase. Then again, rest and meals fueled magic. And food was frequently offered to members of the pantheon.

Waiting at the bottom, surprisingly, were two Druids Merlin recognized. Iseldir, looking more than two years older, and Mordred.

Merlin halted at the sight of the young boy. Now in his teens, Mordred was of an age of most squires. He caught Merlin’s eye, then turned his gaze to the ground. Strange. Last time they had met Mordred had vowed to hold a life grudge. Merlin wondered what changed. 

"Come, Emrys. Let's eat." Iseldir led the way into the underground camp.

Merlin trailed after him, Athuisa trotting beside for when he needed support, and Mordred walked on Merlin’s other side.

Merlin tried to ignore the staring from the Druids they passed, shuddering at the thought of them staring at his still body over the last two years. He made a note to thank Kilgharrah for his shelter when the dragon returned.

At least, Iseldir and Mordred didn’t gape at him, or keep their eyes averted like the woman who managed to bow while giving Merlin a bowl of porridge. When Iseldir asked if Merlin would prefer to eat in a tent, Merlin smiled and said yes.

Iseldir led the way to his tent. Merlin made Athuisa stay outside, she grumbled but complied, flopping to the ground near the entrance. Surprisingly, Mordred entered to eat with them.

Merlin hadn’t thought the teen highly respected amongst the Druids and he hadn’t said a word so far. However, he and Iseldir silently talked, and Merlin got the impression Mordred had something he wanted to ask Merlin.

Breakfast started slow, Merlin hated how the act of simply bringing a spoon to his mouth made his arm tired. But, he supposed, he felt more energy today than previously. Enough where he felt chatty, and the silence bothered him.

"Iseldir," Merlin said, "I was told the Druids found me, after Uther... thank you."

"We heard your plea for aide in our minds, and we are not a people to ignore that."

Aithusa added a whine. Merlin remembered she'd helped too.

"You've done the same," Mordred whispered, "Come to the call of aide."

"Yes," Merlin said. Because he had - helped Mordred, helped Morgana, despite arguments from Kilgharrah they both would harm Arthur.

"I want to apologize," Mordred went on, "For what I said last time we meet. I thought you had led the knights there purposely, to destroy us. But I know now you had come on your own before they arrived. And that Altair's... group... had abandoned the Druid way. He used me, used Morgana. I just... " Mordred trailed off, staring into his bowl, before looking up and piercing Merlin with blue eyes. "I don't hate you. I won’t hurt you."

"Thank you," Merlin. "I don't hate you either."

Mordred blushed, looking down. "I know that. I'm glad you're awake, Emrys."

"Me too. Now tell me, there are Druids living under Camelot. What about above?"

"Your king has spent much time with us, learning," Isledir said, "but as of yet, we are not openly welcome in the city."

"Have there been any changes?" Merlin asked.

"Some," Iseldir said. "I won't say much about the past two years, your king wishes to share the knowledge, but I will tell you your friends are well. Your future queen is happy, your enemies prickly friends, your family safe. Your king wanted you to wake to a peaceful world, one where you no longer had to struggle. And it's nearly complete."

"You make it sound like Arthur wanted me to sleep more."

Mordred snorted and Merlin turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.

Except, as Merlin watched, Mordred's face didn’t show amusement at the joke. It was somber.

"I overheard Arthur, once, at the very beginning," Mordred said, "Talking to you after you were rescued and moved here. He seemed to think letting you sleep was a mercy. I think a part of him wished you never woke."

Merlin frowned, not liking that. How was he supposed to protect Arthur while sleeping? Though, Gaius had told him in the past he cast while dreaming.

Speaking of.

Merlin turned to Iseldir. "You haven't mentioned Gaius, my mentor here at Camelot. Being a physician, I thought he'd be here fussing over me."

 _Please don't be dead_ , Merlin thought.

"He's not as mobile as he used to be. Stairs are hard for him, and there are many here."

Merlin accepted Iseldir’s answer, but got the feeling there was a lot more to the story.

* * *

 

Merlin’s body made the demand for rest shortly after breakfast. Even with Athuisa's help, he knew he'd never make it back up the spire of rock. "Dragon's Roost", the Druids called it. "Emrys' Sanctuary."

It was probably out by now that Merlin was a dragonlord.

Instead, Iseldir and Mordred left the tent and allowed Merlin peace for rest.

“Your body will take a long time to recover,” the Druid elder said. “Weeks, months. We know this. You’ve been in our care, Emrys, for two years. Know we will prioritize it still and leave you to your rest.”

Leaving him to rest however didn’t seem to mean keep their distance. Merlin woke covered in thick blankets, with a white wing over his face and a dragon tail twined around his legs. When he finally pushed Aithusa’s wing away, he found himself face to face with tributes.

He didn’t know what else they were. Small bits of food and nature, rocks with runes for blessings on them, the lingering scent of burned sage. Just as offerings and prayers were made to the gods during festivals, so too apparently had they been made to Merlin’s sleeping form. They surrounded him three feet out.

::If you don’t like them, push them off,:: Aithusa murmured in his mind.

::Is that what Kilgharrah did?::

::They took up too much space. The spire is tight.::

“Apparently, they think you’re a god.”

Merlin’s head snapped to Arthur’s voice, but the sudden movement made him dizzy and Merlin found himself sagging against a crooning Aithusa. Then, Arthur was there. A solid, sturdy presence. Merlin didn’t feel like standing quite yet, so he simply leaned on Arthur instead and stretched out his legs.

“I’m not a god,” Merlin whispered.

Arthur tensed beneath him, no doubt to argue, but Merlin got there first.

“I’m just me.”

“Merlin, you command dragons. You have a ton of magical ability. There’s a prophecy about you – “

“There’s one about you too.”

“I don’t survive – “ Arthur cut himself off with a choked sob.

Merlin didn’t have an answer to that. Instead, he rubbed the stump of his pinkie finger. “I didn’t think I would either.”

“I would have let you sleep, to never have to face what happened-“

Merlin poked Arthur’s belly. He gave an indignant squawk and Merlin smiled at the sound.

“Don’t have to face it. Don’t remember it.” And he avoided looking at his scars, held his tongue still to avoid feeling the new ridge against the roof of his mouth. He could imagine, and he had a feeling his imagination was, in this case, better than reality.

“That’s good,” Arthur whispered.

Merlin hummed, halfway asleep, and then jolted himself awake. He met Arthur’s startled gaze. “Merlin, what?”

“You have to help me up the stairs.”

“Pardon?”

“The stairs. Up. I – “ Merlin flushed in embarrassment. “I can’t get up them by myself, and you’re much more reliable than Aithusa.”

::HEY!:: the dragon projected.

“A better height,” Merlin continued. “And a smoother thing to fall against.”

“Why are we going up the stairs anyway?”

“Because if I sleep here tonight, I’m going to wake up covered in flowers and think I died.”

The joke fell a flat. Arthur actually winced, but he tried to pick up the banter anyway. “At least you’d smell better.”

Merlin smiled at Arthur, and the prince smiled back. At least, despite his magic being revealed, things between the two of them did seem to have changed too much.

“I’ll help you up,” Arthur said, “After you eat supper.”

Merlin blinked. “It’s that late?”

“Later,” Arthur said. He gently propped Merlin against Aithusa’s side and walked over to inspect the offerings. “I do have duties to Camelot, you know. I only have the time to come down here in the evenings."

“I slept the whole day?” Merlin asked.

Arthur shot him a glare over his shoulder. “Don’t sound so sad about that. You’re healing. You’re supposed to sleep. At least you wake up every day.”

“Ever since you forced me to eat that bread, my stomach will growl from time to time so…”

“Good.” Arthur settled down next to Merlin. In his hands were balanced a few bowls of food. A cold stew. Rice. A collection of bread and cheeses. “If you’re up, you’re going to get healthy.”

“Of course.” Merlin accepted the stew and warmed it with a flash of his eyes. He looked around for a spoon, but Arthur handed him a bread roll instead. “I need to help you, with, whatever.”

“No.”

“No?” Merlin’s head shot up in disbelief to stare at Arthur.

“No.” Arthur even crossed his arms and pouted. But seated as they were in a Druid tent, it came off not as imposing as he had probably gone for.

“I figure you have a new manservant, I won’t,” Merlin swallowed the tight idea of being replaced, “but I can do other things. You said you knew about the prophecy. Our destiny. I’m meant to _protect_ you.”

“Merlin.” Arthur clamped a hand on either of Merlin’s shoulders. “You’ve already protected me well. And as much as I wish to have you by my side again, you can’t. You’ve done enough. It’s my turn to protect you.”

“No.” Merlin shook his head. “That’s my job. You’re, you’re my life, Arthur. I’d die for you. I’d live for you. I’m yours, but I’ve also…Albion.” Merlin closed his eyes, bringing up the familiar dream. “I want to see it, and I have to make sure you can build it.”

He opened his eyes at the touch of Arthur’s finger brushing Merlin’s cheekbone. “You don’t want to hear it, Merlin, but you can’t. You are trembling to hold a bowl. You can’t handle stairs. And Albion is almost here, you don’t need to do anything else. You’ve _done enough._ Please, just rest. Get better. I’ve done so much to make sure you’re safe here. Stay safe. For me. _Please._ I can’t bear the thought of anything happening to you again.”

Merlin jerked away. What did Arthur mean, that Albion was almost here? Had Merlin missed it? Missed destiny coming to be? Missed Arthur’s shining glory as he united the lands? He turned his head away, determined not to let Arthur see the tears in his eyes.

“Aithusa, help me get upstairs.”

“No, Merlin, I can- “

Merlin shoved off Arthur’s hands, whose retreat Merlin knew had to be for some reason other than Merlin’s weak gesture. Using Aithusa’s back as leverage, he pushed himself to his feet.

“Let’s go, Aithusa.”

“At least take some of the bread and cheese.”

Dear trees, Arthur sounded like he was _pleading._

“Fine.” Merlin stuffed his pockets with what Arthur handed him and then began the slow, exhausting walk back up to Kilgharrah’s rocky nest.

* * *

 

When Merlin next woke, he didn’t know the time. Problems of cave living, he supposed. But he nested under Kilgharrah’s wing again, Aithusa curled next to Merlin, and their slumbering breath had him guessing it was the middle of the night. Judging by how refreshed he was, Merlin wondered if it was the next night and that he had slept the previous day away.

Now that he was up, he felt antsy. A little bored. Not able to go back to sleep and unwilling to wake either of the dragons. Instead, his mind wandered back to Arthur’s visit the previous night. Isledir had said similar things – Albion was near, things were good – but something about how keen Arthur had been about Merlin’s safety now had him thinking.

He’d been too angry to catch it yesterday – distraught over being told everything he worked for, his goals, no longer required his input, to notice how scared Arthur had been at the idea of Merlin helping him.

Albion might be near, but some last obstacle stood in the way and it posed a threat to Merlin – directly or indirectly he didn’t know. But experience said that threats to Merlin were roundabout threats to Arthur.

If Merlin was in danger, Arthur was more so. And Arthur was so much easier to damage.

He’d just have to protect Arthur from the shadows, again. It’d be harder since Arthur wasn’t as clueless now, but it could be done.

Simple stuff first. He’d once charmed all of Arthur’s clothes for all manner of things, he could do the same the next time they saw each other. Turn away scrying eyes, give a silk shirt the protection ability of a leather jerkin.  Place tracking spells on Arthur’s boots.

Merlin pressed a hand against his hip, feeling the weave of his shirt. He recalled the spells he used to do and whispered them one by one. The first spell took, and the second, but he felt a hitch in his magic at the third and his magic sputtered away the first syllable of the fourth.

He lay there, shocked. Was his magic gone?

No, he told himself. Not gone. Just focused on something more important, like keeping his weak body going.

Merlin promised himself to get better at double the speed.

* * *

 

“What are you doing, young warlock?”

Merlin turned his head to look at Kilgharrah. The golden dragon had one eye open and was eyeing him suspiciously.

“I’m a physician’s assistant. I know exactly what I need to do to get healthy.”

“Oh?”

“Rest. Good food. And exercise.”

“And your form of exercise is to walk down the stairs? Without aid?”

Merlin flushed. “I’m not that stupid. I asked Mordred to help me.”

“Mordred?”

Kilgharrah switched from a sleepy amused to a warry alert.

Merlin spun on his heel to look at the dragon. “He’s apologized to me. Doesn’t wish me any ill will. He’s been in this camp for a year, has not harmed Arthur. Do you still think he’s a threat?”

Kilgharrah did nothing besides stare at Merlin with his golden eyes. “Destiny has changed, this is true,” the dragon admitted. “Your identity was revealed too soon, too publicly, and it sent ripples through the world. What I saw can still come to pass, the waters are not clear yet.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. Riddles and muddy words still. He didn’t know why he expected anything different.

* * *

 

Mordred eyed him warily as Merlin sat on a step, taking in gulps of air. He’d pushed himself, twenty steps without aid, and was feeling the strain. In his feet, his calves, in his arms that he held out for balance, in his eyes from the strain of looking for the perfect step for his feet. His balance was off, he didn’t realize pinkie toes helped so much with that, but Merlin had pulled away from Mordred’s touch after every new solid footing.

Now, he gladly accepted the younger man’s hand up.

“Should I ask the White Dragon to help you?”

“No. I don’t need Aithusa.”

Merlin wanted her, badly. She could support most of his weight, even with her uneven scampering. He imagined himself climbing on her back and riding down. But no. He needed to do this.

Get his body into shape. Allow his magic to answer his commands. Help Arthur.

He’d given himself a month, but he knew that might have been a drastic underestimate.

Merlin pictured Gaius’s scowling. Treating the muscle atrophy would be his second priority, the first would be Merlin’s drastic malnutrition. But Merlin figured a bit of Emrys special help would mean he could work on them both. And even if his magic didn’t help, Merlin felt determined to do it anyway.

“Alright, let’s go.”

Mordred pulled back, but Merlin clung to his shirt. “Help me for the next thirty?”

“You’re going to kill yourself at this rate.” Mordred caught himself on what he just said. “I mean, not that you can die, but you’re going to send yourself back into a coma.”

“I need to get back on my feet, Mordred.” Merlin flashed one of his idiot smiles, the one that typically had others shaking their head but giving in.

Mordred did the same. Sorta. “I’ll support you for the next forty, and then let go for the next twenty.”

Merlin gave him an appraising look. “Talking back to your Emrys?”

Mordred blushed in embarrassment. “Sorry. I know I shouldn’t-“

Merlin gave a snort. Oh gods, now he understood how Arthur felt about Merlin’s imprudence. Fond and thankful and desperate for more.

“No, please. Do. I don’t think anyone else has known me as Merlin, even if you’ve always called me Emrys. I like your lack of respect.”

“What?”

Merlin laughed, the sound unexpected and echoing just a bit off the rocks. It hurt his ribs.

“There are Druids here that treat me like a god of the Old Religion. I’m not.” Merlin shook his head. “I’m just Merlin and want to be treated as that.”

“You’re immortal. That’s a god.”

Merlin sighed. “Fine, then I’m giving you a godly decree to treat me as a regular man. You have never bowed to me, gave me honor or gifts or respect. Don’t do so now because the rest of the camp does.”

Merlin turned his head to look at Mordred, only to find the little bugger giving him a grin. His last words had been delivered so straight, but now Merlin could tell the Druid had been sarcastic.

“You’re teasing,” Merlin accused.

“Yes,” Mordred said, tone still flat. But his lips turned up.

“I like you,” Merlin declared. “Hopefully, we can change your destiny.”

Mordred stumbled and almost dragged Merlin down.

“I have a destiny?” he breathed.

Merlin pulled away to look at him properly. “No one told you?” Everyone had been sharing his, and others’, with Merlin. He figured Mordred might have known his too. Then again, Merlin had been older when he’d been told. Drat.

“You have a destiny,” Merlin whispered, “that opposes mine. Did you want to hear it?”

Mordred swallowed. “Is it why you almost let me be caught? In Camelot?”

“Yes.”

“Did knowing your destiny help you?”

“Greatly,” Merlin admitted, “but I don’t know if knowing yours will help you. Besides, Kilgharrah says destiny has already shifted. What I’ve been told is yours may not come to pass.”

Mordred looked up the stone stairs. They could barely make out the top of Kilgharrah’s bronze body.

Still looking up, Mordred spoke. “I don’t like the idea of working against you, Emrys. Not knowing what you are meant to do. I cannot imagine why I would oppose you and just the idea that a seer and dragon see me doing so churns my stomach.”

He turned to look at Merlin, blue eyes sad and tired. Magic users always grew up fast. “Don’t tell me.”

Merlin nodded. He turned and walked down the next fifteen steps by himself, no way he would have been able to do twenty again, and sought Mordred’s support for the next forty.

Mordred picked up their previous conversation. “Shifting destiny, did you do that?”

“No,” Merlin huffed. “At least, not directly. My, oh let’s stop.”

Mordred set down Merlin down, and while he’d regained his breath Merlin continued mentally. ::My burning was the pivot point, the exposure of my powers. But that wasn’t my doing. It was another’s.::

“Morgana’s,” Mordred said.

Merlin nodded. ::Arthur said something about her turning me into Uther two years ago. I don’t remember it happening, or how she found out, but yes.::

“I knew Morgana had power, but I didn’t think she could shift destiny. Are there prophecies about her too?”

Merlin looked up at him, teasing. “You’re talking to a god, living in the time of the Once and Future King, the Golden Age is upon us. Of course Morgana has her own destiny. This is a time where they all come to be. Where they clash and write the history of the world. But I’ll tell you what.” He crocked a finger and Mordred bent down. “They all say the Golden Age will come. So don’t worry about Morgana.”

Mordred grinned at him, but then his smile slid off. “But if destiny can be altered, how are you so certain it will?”

The thought stilled Merlin, from his breath to his minute tremors. He didn’t like that thought. He didn’t like it at all, but Mordred’s question had merit. If things had been altered, nothing was for sure.

He showed nothing of this new fear. “Because I’ll make certain it comes to pass.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin decides to pay a visit to Gaius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't realize it's been a year since I updated this. Oops?

Step one to helping Arthur make sure destiny happened was getting better. Regular exercise, rest, and food. Merlin had to stop his body from using his own magic as subsistence and instead get it back on bread, meats, and cheese. Or whatever the Druids decided to offer him that day.

Where they got such rich food, considering they were at least a mile underground and he rarely saw people leave, Merlin wondered at but didn’t dig into too much. In the scheme of things, it was a small curiosity.

Instead, Merlin did his best to learn what had happened in the world outside while he slept for two years. It was surprisingly hard to do. Arthur, probably expecting Merlin to ask all the questions he did, had told the Druids not to tell him anything. And despite Merlin being Emrys and using that to insist on knowing about what had happened, no one would tell him anything.

“Your king is our king. The Once and Future King,” Isledir said. “We will obey him, especially if we believe it to be in your best interests.”

“We owe him a lot," Mordred said with a shrug. “And watching your frustrated face is funny. But I’m sure he’ll tell you, eventually.”

The Druids question dodging encouraged Merlin to get better faster, not that you could actually control such things, and the dragons were no help either.

Aithusa wasn‘t aware enough to put together strange faces and names, and Kilgharrah shook his scaly head whenever Merlin prodded.  “It was the release of information prematurely that led to destiny being as unstable as it currently is. I will not risk stirring its waters more, especially as I am not part of its plan.”

“How am I supposed to help Arthur bring about Albion if I have no information?” Merlin threw up his hands.

“Because the young King has information, and he has used it well. Arthur is a strategist and done quite well without you,” the dragon said.

Merlin scowled and turned away to do his exercises and walk down from the Roost. He could do it unaided, but not all in one go yet. Maybe by the end of the week.

Three-quarters of the way down the steps, way below what Merlin knew was Kilgharrah’s eyesight, Merlin eased himself onto a step to pant. He hyper-focused on the sharp rises of his chest, the ache in his calves, the cold from the stone sinking into his bottom. If he paid attention to those, he might be able to avoid crying or overlook the ache in his heart.

Arthur _had_ done well without him, hadn’t he? Merlin thought. He might not know everything that had happened in the past two years, but he knew Albion was on the brink of being formed. Knew that here was a corner of the world were Druids lived peacefully in Camelot. Dragons were free. Arthur knew of his magic. Merlin didn’t have to fear the pyre.

But if Arthur could shepherd Albion into being without him, what use was there for Merlin?

Old worries from childhood tiptoed into his mind. About being a freak, a monster, some random chance of nature whose existence was so far from normal the whole world was against him. That he was a waste, having all this power and not knowing why. Not knowing how to use it. Not knowing how do make sense of life. About hiding and making himself small to try to be normal, and the painful backlash when that failed.

The deep feeling of loneliness, knowing there was no one who would understand. _Could_ understand as he kept his magic bottled and hidden, compressed till it lashed out and caused damage.

No use to the world, no place in the world. Not if he could no longer follow the guiding rope of destiny.

“What are you doing, Merlin?” A voice asked.

“Wishing I never woke up.”

The harsh suck of air had Merlin snap his head up. Arthur stood a few steps below, eye level just above Merlin’s, and the look on his face was guilt. “If my visits to you disturbed you-“

“No! No!” Hastily Merlin stood, thankful he didn’t wobble.

“You can cast a sleep spell if you want,” Arthur continued, “Or maybe Isledir –“

“Islider’s not casting a sleep spell on me. I don’t it would last long anyway. Did…did you want me asleep?” Merlin was seven steps and an inch taller than Arthur, but right then he felt small. Tiny. An unwanted piece of lint easily brushed aside and forgotten as soon as Arthur pushed him away.

“No,” Arthur took two steps up, “Not unless you really wanted it. I, I just…”

“Just what Arthur?” Merlin couldn’t look into Arthur’s earnest face, he turned his eyes to the end of the stairs. The Druid tents beyond it.

“When we found you, after the pyre.”

Merlin snapped his gaze to Arthur’s, not sure if he wanted to hear this or not.

“When we found you, you were in so much pain. The Druids had heard you screaming in their minds leagues away for days until you stopped. To overwhelmed by what Uther ordered, you retreated as far as you could go in your mind. Iseldir couldn’t reach you, Aithusa barely could. Seeing you there, on the table.”

Merlin felt his missing pinkie toe, the bilateral scar on his tongue, the missing weight below his manhood. There had been, no doubt, many things done to him that he recovered from. He didn’t want to think about them. Was relieved those memories never formed.

Somehow, Arthur had traveled the other four steps between them. Merlin blinked at his friend’s sudden presence, then cringed away from the look of pity in his eyes. “If sleeping meant you didn’t have to experience any type of pain again, then I wish you slept until the sun no longer rose. You’d done your part. Sleeping was the only mercy I could give you.”

Had it been? A mercy? To slip away from physical pain, only to wake to your own redundancy?

But destiny was shifting. Hadn’t Kilgharrah mentioned that twice? And Merlin to Mordred too? Wasn’t the Druids in this cave evidence of that? Perhaps what Merlin thought was his destiny was shifting too. Not to help Albion rise, but simply to protect Arthur. No doubt, he still had enemies. Or would make new ones. And if not, there was always helping Gaius.

Merlin forced himself to look at Arthur. “Thank you, for trying to do best by me. I don’t actually want to sleep. I want to be here, see what you have built. Help you, with anything you need. I’m your servant till you die, Arthur.”

“You don’t have to be.”

“I want to be.”

Desperately, Arthur pulled him into a hug. Merlin leaned into it. Hugs from Arthur were so rare. He soaked up the warmth of a body not covered in scales, the scent of his soap, the lavender from the satchel kept in his pillow. It made Merlin realize how little contact the Druids had been giving him. Aside from Mordred’s help with stairs, the only beings Merlin had touched were dragons.

He pressed his forehead against Arthur’s shoulder, wrapped his arms around his king to pull him closer, and sunk into the contact.

“Alright?” Arthur asked after a moment.

“Yeah.” Merlin did not sniffle. “Just missing people. I’ve been telling myself once I can do these stairs by myself, I’ll go visit Gaius.” 

As close as they were, Merlin noticed Arthur stiffen. Instantly, Merlin pulled back. “Is there something wrong with Gaius? All anyone has told me is that stairs are hard on him.”

“No one told you anything?”

“No.” Merlin crossed his arms. “And I keep getting the feeling it’s because of something you’ve said.”

Arthur’s face was blank, which Merlin didn’t like at all.

“Is there a reason I can’t see Gaius? It’s obvious he can’t see me. Otherwise, he’d be here.”

“Merlin…Gaius is…”

“Is what, Arthur?”

Arthur turned his head away. Even from the side, Merlin could read his expression. He’d been so familiar with it two years ago. It was Arthur’s battle face, working through scenarios in his head and possible outcomes. It was amazing to watch when it involved outmaneuvering enemies. Not so much when Arthur was trying to strategize what to tell Merlin.

He had to tell himself not to shrink away. That he still had a place in Arthur’s life, even if it shifted. Was no longer as important. He’d never expected Arthur to center his life around Merlin, even as Merlin did the opposite. Merlin’s focus would always be Arthur. Arthur’s could be Albion.

Taking the decision out of Arthur’s hands, Merlin sidestepped and descended two stairs. “Gaius is alive, right?”

“Yes.”

“And he’s not in the process of dying?”

“No.”

“So he’s healthy.”

Arthur waited a bit before answering. “As well as he can be.”

Merlin wanted to ask more, push more. But he didn’t see the point. His task was to help Arthur, not the other way around. And visiting Gaius could keep. Until Merlin could do the stairs on his own in one go. Up and down. There’d no doubt be a lot of stairs to travel to see his mentor.

“Then I’m happy.”

He walked down the rest of the stairs from the Roost, leaving Arthur behind him.

* * *

Three weeks later, Merlin felt comfortable enough to go and see Gaius. It’s would be a lot of work, leaving the Roost, going up to the castle, and then further up to the physician’s tower. But Merlin’s regular exercise, and body once again fueling itself with food instead of his magic, made him willing to try.

He had felt a growing need to check up on the old man, and maybe Arthur hadn’t gotten to him yet with orders about keeping Merlin in the dark. But at the heart of it, Merlin just missed him.

When to leave posted a bigger problem – living underground meant he had no indication of what time it was above. He wanted to visit Gaius an hour or two after dinner when the castle started to quiet down. Merlin estimated, based on his visits to Kilgharrah before his freedom, that in his current state the trip might take two hours. Not counting walking down the Roost and avoiding detection from all the Druids.

He’d do it in parts. So he could also rest after his descent before the other climb. And he’d do it on a day Kilgharrah went hunting.

Merlin shared his plan with Aithusa, the dragon willing to help him with mischief and also small enough to hide in the castle. Whether it was the impressionable nature of the white dragon’s youth to follow Merlin, or her innate curiosity, Merlin didn’t know. He’d take advantage of it either way.

::It’s cold out here.:: Aithusa sent Merlin.

Merlin rolled his eyes, slowly making his way down the Roost. ::What are people wearing? And how’s the light?::

::Long flowy things with hoods like the Druids.::

 _::_ Anyone with fur?::

 _::_ Yes. _::_

Merlin swore in his head. Winter. He looked down at his own simple garb. Down here, it was fairly warm, what with being underground and filled with the warm presence and warming spells of Druids and dragons. His tunic and pants would most likely not keep him warm once he entered the castle, and he didn’t want to use his magic to generate heat.

Nothing for it. He’d have to make due.

::And the light? _::_

 _::_ Fading. _::_ Aithusa answered.

::Let me know when it’s been an hour after it gets dark.::

::Okay.::

This left Merlin with ninety minutes, maybe, of free time that he had to spend hiding from anyone who might approach the base of the stairs leading up and out of the cavern. Thankfully, the base was lower than the level the tents were staked. If Merlin sat, no one could see him. And with his magic level so low and unsteady, and many Druids in the area, it would be hard for anyone looking to pinpoint him unless they knew his magical signature very well.

Mordred knew his magical signature and found him.

“Please don’t stop me,” Merlin asked, knowing full well if Mordred wanted to he could. Merlin couldn’t, physically or magically, stop anyone older than fifteen from manhandling him right now. And if anyone thought Merlin was jeopardizing his health or going against what Arthur wished of them, they’d stop him regardless of his position as Emrys. Though they’d be really nice and apologetic about it.

“Depends on what you’re planning on doing.”

“I want to see my mentor, Gaius. It’s been years, he’s probably worried sick. And I, well, to be honest, I miss him and Arthur and Iseldir have made it sound as if he’s too old to travel to see me. So I’m going to him.”

Mordred blinked at him, turning his head away shyly. “Thanks for telling me. I didn’t know if you would tell me what you were up too.” He looked back at the older warlock. “I know the trust between us is thin.”

Merlin gave the other man a smile. “Not so thin.”

Mordred smiled back and pulled a bag around from his back. From it, he pulled a cloak and offered it to Merlin who took it with thanks.

“You said before,” Mordred began, “that my destiny was to oppose you.”

“Did you change your mind about wanting to know it?”

Mordred shook his head. “You also said it was shifting, and that you were going to try to make it be the destiny you want.” He took a deep lungful of air. “I don’t want a destiny where I fight you, so any chance I can help you, to ensure that in this shifting destiny we’re allies, I wish to do so.”

“Even if it goes against Arthur’s wishes?” Merlin asked, thinking of how Mordred had ignored his previous inquiries.

“Except that. Isn’t Arthur’s side yours?”

“Not always,” Merlin mumbled and Mordred laughed.

“I don’t think preventing you from seeing your mentor is something Arthur wanted. You’re just going to say hello, right?”

“Yes. Let him know I’m alright.”

“Then I’ll help.”

Grinning brightly, Merlin shook Mordred’s shoulder. “I’m thrilled to hear you say that. I figure it was going to be hard to hide myself, and I think it would be good if Gaius meets you.”

::Okay, now.:: Aithusa said into Merlin’s mind.

::On my way with Mordred.::

“Come. Aithusa said it’s after dark, by the time we get up to the castle, most people should be eating dinner.”

* * *

 Having Mordred’s assistance was amazing. Where he feeling better, Merlin could have made himself invisible climbing the stairs up and out of the cavern _and_ cast the warming spell on his fingers, but allowing Mordred to cast the spells meant he could save his energy for the climb. He stopped only once and Merlin considered that a success. Still, he was breathing hard at the top and groaned when he saw the constructed stairs that led up to the castle.

At that point, Merlin cast aside pride. He’d done the rough stairs out of the cavern by himself, but he allowed Mordred to help him into the citadel. Halfway through the dark stairwell, lit by a small mage light Merlin had insisted on casting, Aithusa joined them. How she managed to avoid detection, he didn’t want to know, but Merlin knew dragons had their own brand of magic. Being the last dragonlord did not make him an expert in the species, but he really should get Kilgharrah to teach him the essentials.

“Can you sense where Gaius is?” Merlin asked, sending over a selection of memories about his mentor. Not just images of him working, but what Merlin could remember about his taste, the sense of his magic, the emotions the man put out.

She huffed, a noise indicating she was thinking, and replaced Mordred as a stair aide. She was a mite possessive of her role as Merlin’s helper. Mordred gave up his job of human crutch with a small bow, a smile pulling at his lips. Merlin rolled his eyes at the pair.

::Found him. _::_ Aithusa said as they neared the first floor of the citadel. She turned, going not up like Merlin suspected, but staying on this floor. Merlin knew it for its use by servants wanting to avoid traffic up above and for its storerooms and ice boxes. Why Gaius was down here, Merlin couldn’t begin to guess. But he trusted Aithusa, and Mordred didn’t seem to be concerned either. 

That changed as Aithusa started to lead them down.

::Where are we?:: Mordred asked silently.

::I don’t know.:: Merlin answered. ::This is not a part of the castle I’ve visited before, but if I had to guess, one of the prison floors. There were always rumors about what was under the castle, locked up sorcerers, beasts, treasures. We’re near the prisons, maybe. But I don’t think Aithusa is leading us there.::

::Why would Gaius be down here?::

::Collecting or hiding something magical?:: Merlin shrugged. He knew his mentor had in the past helped smuggle magic wielders out of Camelot. Gaius no doubt knew these lower layers better than Merlin did.

::Down the next hallway _.::_ Aithusa told Merlin. He relayed the message to Mordred, who nodded.

The group slowed as they came up to the crossway. Before turning the corner, Mordred stuck his head around the corner. He pulled back shaking his head. ::Is Aithusa sure? The hall is dark and empty.::

::She’s sure. _::_ Merlin answered after asking the dragon. Stepping around Mordred, Merlin made his way down the hallway with a left hand on the wall. Aithusa scampered over to walk along Merlin’s side, ready if his feet turned unsteady. Mordred brought up the rear, the raising taste of magic in the air telling Merlin the Druid had called forth a bit of power. Just in case.

“Gaius,” Merlin called out softly. “Gaius, it’s Merlin.”

No response. Merlin fed what extra power he could to his mage light, so it illuminated more than the area around their feet. As the glow slowly brightened, Merlin made out thick wooden doors on both sides of the hallway. One, two down on the left, was locked with a padlock the size of a fist.

Somehow, Merlin knew Gaius was behind it.

He didn’t understand. No one had given Merlin the impression that Gaius was locked up. Had something happened recently?

Merlin walked fast to the door, developing a limp with his speed, but halted as he felt the magic on the door. It came from the lock, from the wood panels, and from something in the room beyond. Magic placed _on_ the door, to keep someone in.

Stiffly, Merlin turned to Mordred. ::Can you open it?::

Mordred stepped forward to examine the spells. ::Yes, but not quietly. There’s a trigger alarm that I don’t know how to break.::

Merlin closed his eyes and thought. There was someone in Camelot with power, magical enough to be at Mordred’s level and of high enough standing no one had protested Gaius’s imprisonment. A witch or warlock, probably a member of the court. Did Arthur know? Why hadn’t he said anything? Merlin was supposed to protect him! It was his destiny!

He understood, he really did, that Merlin was in no condition to fight against whoever had laid these spells, but he could have been involved in the plans to catch them red-handed. To give tips on how to identify a magic user.

But Arthur hadn’t asked. Probably, he’d asked Iseldir instead.

The feeling of weakness, uselessness, that never really left Merlin started to morph into despair. He couldn’t help Arthur, and Arthur didn’t want his help. The destiny Merlin had built his life around was crumbling, leaving him alone and scared and confused.

Why, _why_ had all this happened if not for a _reason?_

::Merlin, _Merlin:: “Merlin!”_ It was Mordred’s hands grabbing his own that broke Merlin from his thoughts. Helped him focus on the present.

“What do you want me to do?”

Merlin had left the Roost to check up on Gaius. By the trees, he would do it.

::What part has the trigger?::

::The doorway. It’s set to alert the caster every time it opens.::

::What if the door no longer exists?::

Mordred blinked at him, confusion evident on his face.

::We have a dragon, Mordred. What would happen if Aithusa burned the door? Would the alert sound?::

::I don’t think so. It’s cast on the latch. If it doesn’t lift, nothing will happen.::

::So if we just burn the left side of the door…::

::Does Aithusa have that type of control?::

::Time to find out!::

Stupid. Reckless. Ill-thought out. The plan was all three but Merlin commanded Aithusa to do it anyway as soon as Mordred dismissed the spells on the door and lock. She wriggled in happiness and let loose a small stream of fire. It wasn’t nearly as large as Kilgarrah’s flames, but Aithusa was much smaller and younger.

The entire door did catch on fire, but Mordred managed to put out the flames before so much of the door was ashes it wouldn’t have been able to stand. If it had fallen, the latch alarm would have certainly sounded.

As soon as he could, Merlin placed himself flat against the doorway and side-stepped into the prison cell. The scent of ashes couldn’t overcome the strong smell of human refuge, nor that of pungent sweat or decaying food. If it was indeed Gaius here, he’d been behind the door for more than a few days.

He pushed down his anger at Arthur for keeping this from him and called his mage light to float into the room.

There was Gaius, lying on a bed a straw, and not moving. “Gaius?” Merlin whispered, walking forward.

Gaius didn’t answer. The room felt cold. Gaius should have reacted to the dragon fire.

When Merlin fell to his knees beside his mentor, Merlin already knew what he would find. He felt for a pulse anyway, tried to sense a breath. Behind him, Aithusa had started to whine.

Merlin’s old medical knowledge slipped around his numb heart. Gaius had been dead for a day, maybe two, but his body told the story of having been in this cell for much longer. Weeks, maybe.

Why hadn’t…why hadn’t Arthur….

“Merlin? Merlin. Please.”

Vaguely, Merlin heard Mordred, both in his head and in his ear. Aithusa continued to whine, desperate to get to Merlin, but unable to fit her hind legs through the impromptu entrance without knocking the door over and triggering the alarm.  And Merlin, he felt his magic reach down, down, down into the earth and pull it up into his body until the power hummed under his skin and the cell took on the feeling of a thunderstorm.

“Merlin, _Merlin._ Emrys!”

At that, Merlin turned to look at Mordred. He looked abnormally young. Scared. Behind him, small bits of rock were floating as magic poured into the room.

“Did Arthur know? That Gaius was in prison?”

“I…I don’t know, Emrys.”

“I think he did. Tell me, Mordred, who in Camelot has the power to cast the spells we found on the door?”

Mordred bit his lip. “I can’t say-“

“Because Arthur doesn’t want you to say. He doesn’t want me to know.”

“Emrys, Prince Arthur is just like us. He wants to see Albion come to be. Wants to see magic used for _good._ ”

“ _This does not look like good!”_ Merlin snarled. “This is magic in the court used to imprison the Court Physician. This is evil deeds not addressed, not punished. This is _not_ the path to Albion.”

Mordred shrunk back.

His own words sounded in Merlin’s head. _Not the path to Albion. Not the path to Albion._ Something was wrong in Camelot, but Merlin didn’t know what. Because people _wouldn’t tell him._

Aithusa whined and snarled. Merlin could feel emotions from her, reflections of his own he couldn’t feel right. She still hesitated about coming in, not wanting to alert whatever power was in Camelot that they’d snuck into Gaius’s prison cell.

To hell with that. Merlin felt brimming with power, from magic, from anger, from grief.

“ _Come, Aithusa,”_ he commanded.

The dragon burst into the room, snarling. As both men kneeled on the floor, Aithusa head was at their eye level and she _snarled_ at Mordred, tiny flames licking at her fangs. Mordred reared back frightened. “The trigger!”

“I’m sure you can take care of whoever was alerted, as who you know who they are,” Merlin snapped. He extended both hands, one pressing to Aithusa’s whither and the other laying gently on Gaius’s chest.

Then, he teleported them both away, leaving Mordred.

It was a bad idea. The magic in his body wasn’t actually his, the strength had been borrowed from the essence of Albion and disappeared when the teleportation spell finished. Merlin collapsed on the shores of a lake beside his dead mentor, dead friend, dead father, and wondered how doomed the world was.

**Author's Note:**

> Where is this going, who know? But I can guarantee it has a bad ass, evil Morgana.


End file.
